Dramatist and miscellaneous writer, was born 10th December, 1745 (old style), in Orange Court, Leicester Fields, London…. On the expiry of his term of engagement as stable boy he returned to assist his father, who had again resumed his trade of shoemaker in London; but after marrying in 1765, he procured the office of teacher in a small school in Liverpool. His subsequent career, like his earlier life, was hard and checkered, but it must suffice to state that, after failing in an attempt to set up a private school, he followed for several years the profession of an actor, often at a very meagre salary, and that he was more successful as a dramatist and novelist, but suffered much and frequent anxiety from pecuniary embarrassments and repeated disappointments. He died 23d March, 1809, from enlargement of the heart, brought on, it is supposed, by the failure of several of his dramatic pieces. He was a member of the Society for Constitutional Reform, and on that account was, in 1794, indicted of high treason, but acquitted. The best known dramas of Holcroft are “Duplicity,” “The School for Arrogance,” “The Road to Ruin,” and “The Deserted Daughter.” Among his novels may be mentioned “Alwyn,” and “Hugh Trevor.” He was also the author of “Travels from Hamburg through Westphalia, Holland and the Netherlands to Paris,” and of some volumes of verse, and translated several works from the French and German with considerable elegance…. His “Memoirs written by himself and continued down to the time of his death, from his diary, notes, and other papers,” by William Hazlitt, appeared in 1815, and has gone into several editions.

Personal

  There is a fierceness and dogmatism of conversation in Holcroft for which you receive little compensation either from the veracity of his information, the closeness of his reasoning, or the splendour of his language. He talks incessantly of metaphysics, of which he appears to me to know nothing, to have read nothing. He is ignorant as a scholar, and neglectful of the smaller humanities of a man.

  The relaxations in which Mr. Holcroft indulged were few and regular. He was fond of riding, and for some years kept a horse, which had generally high blood in its veins…. His love for the arts sometimes subjected him to temptations which were not consistent with strict economy…. It may be supposed, that that part of Mr. Holcroft’s time which he could spare from his studies, was chiefly devoted to the society of literary friends. He, however, gave few dinner-parties, and those were not ostentatious, and consequently not expensive. When a friend dined with him, a bottle of wine was usually produced after dinner; but, with respect to himself, he was extremely abstemious in the use of liquor, and the habits of his friends were rather those of philosophers than Bacchanalians.

  Holcroft’s “Memoirs” are valuable as showing strength of endurance in the man, which is worth more than all the talent in the world.

  I own I could never think so considerably of myself as to decline the society of an agreeable or worthy man upon difference of opinion only. The impediments and the facilitations to a sound belief are various and inscrutable as the heart of man. Some believe upon weak principles; others cannot feel the efficacy of the strongest. One of the most candid, most upright, and single-meaning men I ever knew, was the late Thomas Holcroft. I believe he never said one thing, and meant another, in his life; and, as near as I can guess, he never acted otherwise than with the most scrupulous attention to conscience. Ought we to wish the character false, for the sake of a hollow compliment to Christianity?

  The name of Holcroft at once gives rise to a crowd of recollections to those who are conversant with the history of the times, and that particular circle of literary men of which my father was one. The son of a shoemaker, he rose to eminence through the energy of his character, and the genius with which nature had endowed him. To think of Holcroft as his friends remember him, and to call to mind whence at this day he principally derives his fame as an author, present a singular contrast. He was a man of stern and irascible character, and from the moment that he espoused liberal principles, he carried them to excess. He was tried for life as a traitor on account of his enthusiasm for the objects of the French Revolution. He believed that truth must prevail by the force of its own powers, but he advocated what he deemed truth with vehemence. He warmly asserted that death and disease existed only through the feebleness of man’s mind, that pain also had no reality. Rectitude and Courage were the gods of his idolatry, but the defect of his temper rendered him a susceptible friend. His comedy, “The Road to Ruin,” will always maintain its position on the English stage, so long as there are actors who can fitly represent its leading characters. He was a man of great industry, unwearied in his efforts to support his family.

  Holcroft was a stern and conscientious man, with an irascible temper, great energy, and marvellous industry…. As an actor he was harsh and unsympathetic, and he appears to have taken no further part on the stage after his performance of Figaro. In spite of his poverty and many adverse circumstances, Holcroft with great tenacity of purpose contrived to educate himself creditably, and to acquire a competent knowledge of French, German, and Italian. His career, however, was one continuous struggle against misfortune, and owing to his many rash speculations and his “picture-dealing insanity” his affairs were perpetually in an embarrassed condition.

General

  You appear to have seen Holcroft’s pamphlet; which certainly displays much ability and good-writing, but most of all the extreme vanity and self-importance of the author, which is equally ridiculous and disgusting. He thinks it impossible that any court or jury in the world could have resisted the force of his combined eloquence and philosophy; and actually told us that he would gladly have given one of his hands for the opportunity of making his defence, which by the way would certainly have hanged him, however favourable his judges might have been beforehand.

  Upon the whole, we think that this book is a great deal too long, and that it has attained this magnitude by the most intrepid and extensive application of the approved receipts for bookmaking that has yet come under our consideration. If everything were deducted that has no relation to the present state of the countries which the author proposes to describe, and everything which is transcribed from books that might as well have been consulted at home, the publication, we are persuaded, would be reduced to one third of its present bulk. The lofty pretensions, too, with which the author sets out, and the solemnity with which he continually speaks of his labours, form a ridiculous contrast with the insignificance of the matters upon which he rested his attention…. Of the style and language of the book, a tolerable judgment may be formed from the extracts we have already given. Its ruling vice is affectation, which is frequently combined with a greater degree of grammatical inaccuracy than is usual, even in works of this description.

  This [“Road to Ruin”] comedy ranks among the most successful of modern plays. There is merit in the writing, but much more in that dramatic science, which disposes character, scenes, and dialogue, with minute attention to theatric exhibition: for the author has nicely considered, that it is only by passing the ordeal of a theatre with safety, that a drama has the privilege of being admitted to a library. The nice art with which the conversations in this play are written, will, by a common reader, pass unadmired and unnoticed. Some of the most important speeches consist of no more than one line. The grand skill has been to make no skill evident—to force a reader to forget the author, but to remember his play, and his distinct character…. “The Road to Ruin” is a complete drama; resting its power on itself alone, without adventitious aid.

  Mr. Holcroft, in his “Road to Ruin,” set the example of that style of comedy, in which the slang phrases of jockey-noblemen and the humours of the four-in-hand club are blended with the romantic sentiments of distressed damsels and philosophic waiting-maids, and in which he has been imitated by the most successful of our living writers, unless we make a separate class for the school of Cumberland.

  Becomes one of the best and most voluminous translators upon record. If ever one happens to take up an English version of a French or German book of that period—“Memoirs of Baron Trenck,” or “Caroline de Litchfield”—and if that version have in it the zest and savor of original writing, we shall be sure to find the name of Thomas Holcroft in the title-page…. His comedies, “Duplicity,” “The School for Arrogance,” and “The Road to Ruin,” evinced talent (I had well nigh written genius) of the highest order. The serious parts above all are admirable. Perhaps no scenes have ever drawn so many tears as those between the father and the son in the last-mentioned play. The famous “Good Night” is truly the one touch of nature that makes the whole world kin; and although I have seen it played as well as any thing can be played by Munden and Elliston, I have always felt that the real merit belonged to the author. His greater novels, too, “Anna St. Ives” and “Hugh Trevor,” were full of powerful writing; and he seemed destined to a long course of literary prosperity.

  Thomas Holcroft is one of the best forgotten men in English literature. Less than a hundred years ago he was a celebrity—a prolific writer of plays, novels and books of travel, the intimate of Hazlitt and Godwin, the hero of a political trial. Now-a-days, when “The Road to Ruin,” his one work that has lived, is occasionally revived, the eye of the unlearned play-goer dubiously scans the bill in search of the author’s name. For the student of the stage Holcroft’s work must always retain a certain interest. He was not in any sense a great writer; but his plays were at least worthy of all the consideration bestowed upon them in their time, while “The Road to Ruin” is one of the dozen or so plays of its century which have survived. Holcroft may be regarded as the founder of the modern school of melodrama. He was the first, too, to hastily adapt a French success to the exigencies of the English stage, after the fashion now in vogue.

  A curiosity of literature and a rather typical figure of the time.